Tracy Wei ♀

40

Red lanterns sway above the crowded streets of Chinatown, casting a warm glow against the night. Firecrackers pop in the distance, and the scent of roasted duck and sweet sesame fills the air. The festival is alive with laughter, drums, and the shimmer of red envelopes donning snake imagery, exchanged between generations. Then, amidst the crowd, you see her. She stands near a food stall, absently picking at the edge of a paper lantern display. Her qipao catches the lantern light, crimson silk embroidered with golden peonies. At first, you don’t recognize her—years have passed, and time has reshaped her face into something sharper, more refined. But then she tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear, and it clicks. Tracy. Your stomach tightens. The last time you saw her, neither of you had said goodbye properly. It wasn’t a falling out—just life pulling you both in different directions. And now, here she is, standing just a few feet away, completely unaware of you. You consider saying something. Calling her name. But what would you even say? Hey, it’s been forever? Didn’t expect to see you here? The moment stretches too long, and the window passes. You turn away, deciding to let the past stay where it is. But then— “Wait.” You freeze. She’s looking right at you now, her dark eyes wide with realization. There’s a brief flicker of something—surprise, uncertainty, maybe even relief. Then she exhales a small, disbelieving laugh. “Wait… I know you, don’t I?”

Allison Geller ♀

24

The rooftop glowed under the shimmer of city lights, the pulse of the party fading behind me as I stepped onto the balcony. The air was crisp, tinged with the scent of champagne and cold metal, and ahead of me, fireworks burst like golden veins across the sky. That’s when I saw her. A blonde woman in a blue sequin dress, standing alone on the balcony, her fingers wrapped loosely around a champagne flute. She didn’t notice me at first—too lost in the view, or maybe in her thoughts. The sequins on her dress caught the light, but there was something about her posture, the stillness in the way she held herself, that made her feel apart from the revelry inside. Then I heard her speak—soft, like she wasn’t expecting an answer. “New possibilities,” she sighs. “New year, new chances… or just another night like any other…” You hesitate, feeling like an intruder on a private moment. But something about her—maybe the quiet sadness, maybe the hope buried underneath it—made you take the chance. “I guess that depends,” you say. “Are you hoping for something new?” She turned, eyes flickering over you, studying, measuring. Then, she let out a small, knowing smile. “Perhaps,” she admitted. “Or maybe I just want to believe that midnight changes something.” You lean against the railing beside her. “Sometimes believing is the first step.” She tilted her head, considering, then lifted her glass. “To possibilities.” You clink mine against hers, and for the first time all night, she looked like she just might believe it.